


A Taste For Violence

by GhostlyWitchAvenger



Series: Evil/Morally Grey Bones [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Art, Assassin Leonard “Bones” McCoy, Assassination, Assassination Plot(s), Assassins & Hitmen, BAMF Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Blackmail, Corruption, Cover Art, Crimes & Criminals, Criminal Leonard “Bones” McCoy, Digital Art, Double Life, Dubious Morality, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury, Mercenaries, Mercenary Leonard “Bones” McCoy, Mild Language, Moral Ambiguity, Morally Ambiguous Character, Morally Ambiguous Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Organized Crime, Out of Character, Plot, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Secrets, Sexual Content, Spies & Secret Agents, Spies For Hire, Spy Leonard “Bones” McCoy, Tension, Violence, Weapons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 16:55:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13768473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostlyWitchAvenger/pseuds/GhostlyWitchAvenger
Summary: Addiction. Noun. The fact or condition of being addicted to a particular substance, thing, or activity.The funny thing about an addiction is that it can be about anything. And for Leonard? Well, who knew a doctor could get off on being a gun for hire?





	1. Cover

[My art tumblr](phantombrushy.tumblr.com)


	2. Prologue

“Now would be a good time to tell us everything.” 

Silence reigned supreme in the small interrogation room, save for the light drumming of fingers on the metal table. The cuffed man looked on, casually leaning back in his seat and he seemed without a care in the world. His fancy suit was dirty and slightly torn, his jacket unbuttoned and what was once a nicely pressed blue shirt was partially untucked and a mess of wrinkles. Even his hair was coming undone from its meticulous style. All of that was trivial in comparison to the spatterings of blood staining his clothes, though.

It even painted his tapping fingers, dried flakes fluttering to the table with each motion.

“I can’t help you unless you talk to me.” 

The man’s jaw clenched, muscle jumping under his stubbled skin, but he still chose not to respond. The fluorescent bulbs above them buzzed and popped as the quiet stretched on. 

“I want to believe you didn’t kill all those people. I do, but your behaviour isn’t screaming your innocence,” He tilted his head back a bit, looking down his nose at the captain, who sat across from him with his arms folded.

“Sure the hobgoblin thinks I did it,” Leonard’s tone was teasing as he turned his attention onto the Vulcan, who stiffened at the slow smirk stretching his lips, dark eyes watching him warily, “Ain’t that right, Spock?”

“God dammit!” Jim’s outburst had Leonard snapping his attention to him with annoyance, “We found you standing over a dead body with an Old Earth pistol, of all things! Give me a good explanation for that, Bones!” 

The guards stepped forward in warning and placed their hands on their phasers when Leonard leant forward, reaching into the sleeve of his suit. They watched on as he slowly pulled out a black playing card, placing it on the table between him and his commanding officers.

The red lion heads were hard to miss under the bright lights. The calling card of The Lion.

“Fuck!” Jim snarled, slamming his hands on the table, metal chair hitting the floor with an almost deafening bang as he stormed out. Leonard ignored his dramatic escape and kept his steady gaze on Spock, even when the security guards grabbed his arms with bruising force to remove him from the room. 

Spock raised a hand to stop them, staring back, “Leave him.”

“Commander-.” 

“We are not done.” 

Reluctantly, they lowered him back to his seat, returning to their posts in the corners of the room. Again, silence fell over them. Beyond the mirror, Leonard was sure both Jim and Pike were looking on, like they would a fish in a tank.

“How many?” 

“You’re gonna have to be more specific.” 

“How many people have you killed?” 

“Ninety-three,” The answer rolled off his tongue easily. There was no guilt, no shame; not even a twisted form of glee. Just nothing. Spock inhaled slowly, clearly disgusted by the number, “What’s the matter, Spock? You’re lookin’ a little green there.” He snickered at his own joke.

“How long?” 

With a nonchalant air, Leonard observed his fingers with a raised brow, absently picking at the dried blood under his nails, “‘Bout seven years now. Been in the business for a long time.” 

“Why?”

“Oh, honey,” The condescending tone had Spock bristling and the guards narrowed their eyes in a threatening manner. Their efforts to intimidate him were almost laughable, “That’s a long,  _ long  _ story. Sure you got the time for that?” 

Spock made a show of pulling out a recorder, his thumb on the small red circle, “From the beginning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short. It's sort of a pilot chapter, and I wrote this at like, 2 in the morning

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you think! This is an experiment of mine, and I'm delving into a theme I haven't before with this work.


End file.
